Macroscope

He thought back to his interview with Mattan. The man obviously had not been satisfied, yet he had not pursued the matter of Ivo’s origins. Instead he had forwarded his guest to the temple for further interrogation — and the guards had conveniently staged a giveaway dialogue.

Mattan was clever; there could be no questioning that. Suppose he had had firm suspicions that Ivo was a spy who refused to talk, spi

A skilled spy would know many dialects, naturally. A spy would comprehend the dialogue of the mercenaries, and react accordingly. Ivo remembered how handy that sword had been — virtually proffered to his hand, as the guard turned to him at the foot of the temple steps. How slow those men had been to react, though they were obviously long-time professionals, so that even his clumsy efforts had availed.

Of course, the priest had tried to trick him — but perhaps the man hadn’t had the word yet, or was merely cowardly. Then the chase through the city — with all avenues of escape closed off but one, and attractive Aia waiting at the end of that one.

She had been so eager to ingratiate herself with him — but not personally involved enough to stay awake for the romantic denouement. Well, this released him of any obligation he might have felt for her assistance.

What would have happened, had he meekly accompanied the two guards into the temple? Probably nothing. He would have demonstrated thereby his ignorance of the mercenary dialect, his i

Gift of tongues?

He stopped rowing, and the coracle jerked about as Aia’s stroke met no counteraction. “Careful, lover,” she said.

“It occurs to me that I have nowhere to go,” he told her, watching her as carefully as he could in the dark.

“Nowhere? But—”

“America is much too far away, and I would be no better off at any other local city than I am at Tyre. We might as well go back.”

“But Mattan—”

“What of Mattan? I’m sure I can explain about the mistake to him, and everything will be all right.”

“All right! After he sent you as sacrifice to Melqart?”

“I was only going to the temple to talk with the priests there. Mattan told me so. I suppose the one that met me assumed I was to be sacrificed, but they should have all that straightened out by now. These little errors happen. I should have realized then that it was a common misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding! How blind can you—” She paused. “Well, what about me? Aren’t you going to help me escape?”

“From what?”

“From the temple. I told you how they meant to make me serve as—”

“You told me that there was no harm a man could do you. You could have a good life at the temple, and a nice comfortable sleep every night with a new ship in your port, just the way you like it.”

For a moment he thought she was going to hit him with the paddle; but her words, when they came, were low. “Do you know what Mattan does with an unsuccessful spy?”

“One he catches, you mean? I do have some inkling.”

“One he assigns.”

Now he caught her meaning. “The sacrifice?”

“Bride of Melqart — and our Baal has a fiery member.”

“Suppose we land you on the mainland, then, and I can paddle back by myself. I want to see Mattan and clear this thing up as soon as possible.”

“You couldn’t handle this craft by yourself.”

“Maybe I can find a canoe or something. I’ll make do. You can travel back to Urartu.”

“I didn’t really come from Urartu.”

“Strange. I do really come from America.”

“Stay with me,” she pleaded, setting down the paddle and reaching for him. “I can guide you past the soldiers that are watching us now, and when we are free I promise you I will stay awake until you are exhausted. Until the very hull of your ship is blistered. I will steal valuables for you. I will—”

“Steady,” he said, worried about the equilibrium of the craft as Aia sought to approach and embrace him. She did have a fine body, but her mind appealed to him less and less. “Unfortunately your promises lack conviction. Or are they threats?”

She let go. “What do you want?”

“I want, believe it or not, to go home. It is not a journey you can share. I travel to the stars.”

“I can take you to the finest astrologer!” she said eagerly.

He began to laugh, harshly. Then, as he had done a night ago, he reconsidered. He just might be able to use a good astrologer. Hadn’t Groton told him that they had traditionally been the most educated of men? “Where?”

“It is said that the very best reside in Babylonia, particularly the city of Harran. We can join a trading caravan—

“How long would such a trip take?”

“It is across the great deserts where the nomads raid.”

“How long?”

“Not long. Thirty days, maybe only twenty-five.”

“Scratch Babylon. Who is there in Tyre?”

She considered disconsolately. “There is Gorolot — but he is very old. However, in other cities—”

“Should be very wise, then. Is he an honest scholar or a faker?”

“Honest. That is why he is so poor. But elsewhere there are—”

“Gorolot will do. We’ll see him tonight.”

“Tonight! He is already asleep.”

“We’ll have to wake him.”

“We have no money for his fee.”

“Do you want to help or don’t you?”

“Will you leave Tyre after you see him?”

“Sleeping Beauty, I may leave this world after I see him!”

She twisted the paddle until the craft was in position for the return voyage.

“What I have in mind for payment,” Ivo said, “is service. If Gorolot is old and poor and honest, he has no servants, right? A strong young woman could do marvels for his household, and perhaps encourage business too. And—”

“I am no household slave!” she exclaimed.

“And Mattan would never suspect that the household slave of an aged astrologer could be an unsuccessful counterspy or potential bride of Melqart.”

She paddled silently.

Gorolot, once roused by strenuous clamor, had the aspect of a sleepy old fraud. His eyes were sunken, his beard straggly and white, his clothing unkempt. He agreed to consider Ivo’s case once the terms had been clarified.

“I wish I had a better offer to make,” Ivo said regretfully. “But I may not be in these parts long. Aia — you’ll have to change her name — isn’t too reliable and will need a lot of supervision—”

“I will not!” she exclaimed angrily. “I can do the job as well as any girl in the city.”

“And you dare not entrust the daily marketing for staples to her, because she can’t bargain well—”

“I bargain very well! I’ll show you!”

“And she’ll probably run away within a week or two, but at least—”

“I will not!”

“But she may be all right, if she doesn’t fall asleep on the job.”

“I—” She shot him a dirty look and twitched her hip, conscious at last of the needling.

The two men sat down at Gorolot’s official table. Ivo saw that there were no flashy pictures of stars, planets or other symbols in evidence, and the man had do

“What is your date of birth?” Gorolot inquired.

Ivo hesitated, but found after reflection that he was able to express it in local chronology, except for the year. That he solved by taking his age and figuring back to the year he would have been born, had he been born into this world and age. It came to the fifteenth year of the reign of Hiram the Great.